


night gathers (and now my watch begins)

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut, jaime being bossy, jaime being jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: Jaime is sentenced to the Wall. Brienne follows him there.It's no secret to most of the brothers at the Wall that she and Jaime often share a bed, and no one dares to confront the Kingslayer about a broken vow.





	night gathers (and now my watch begins)

**Author's Note:**

> In the books, there is a line which mentions Ned Stark wanted to send Jaime to the Wall for killing Aerys. ddagent recently posted a photoset on tumblr with this idea and it reminded me I've had this fic sitting on my computer for eight years. 
> 
> This is vaguely set post-ASOS/AFFC. Jaime gets sent to the Wall for crimes he commits--likely in good faith--for which the new ruler decides to punish him.

Brienne watches as Jaime crosses the yard.

“Did I see you sparring with our Lord Commander last night?” he asks. Brienne wishes she was already wearing her helm, because she can feel herself blush. Jaime unsheathes his sword, picks up a whetstone, and kneels down to sharpen it. She can't see his face, but she would put a golden dragon or two on the chance that he's smirking.

“I might have been,” she replies cavalierly. “He has been kind enough to let me stay on here.”

“You should be careful around Lord Snow. You wouldn't want him seeing all your secrets. He might have you take the black.” Jaime's eyebrow arches up playfully.

Brienne is not shy to show that her eyes rake over him, clad in the Night Watch's black, his golden hair and hand the only color. “I would be honored if he asked me, but I am not worried.” Jaime tries to act nonchalant and shrug it off as they walk towards “their” spot, a bit away from the eyes of the rest of the Brothers. Brienne finds a laugh bubbling up in her throat. “Jealous, Kingslayer?”

Brienne knows she's one of the only people who can call Jaime that nickname without him wanting to smack them with his golden hand. As it is, he shoots her a stern look. “Careful, wench.” 

She watches Jaime warm up his sword hand, dipping and twisting his wrist, testing the weight of his sword. The light bounces off the blade and for a moment, a brilliant arc is painted in the air.

They spar in silence, the only sounds their grunts, and the wind whistling as their swords cut through the air, and the metallic clang as the weapons connect with armor.

Jaime seems to be moving slowly and she gets a couple touches on him, before he stuns her with a blow that leaves her ears ringing. She takes a step back, trying to take a breath, but he doesn't let up. “How does our Lord Commander's sparring compare to mine?” Jaime grinds out the words as his attack continues. “If he lost a hand, would we be an even match?”

Brienne manages to fight out of the hole she's in and presses him back. It's been a long while since she's seen Jaime like this, so full of self-loathing. He's seemed almost happy at the Wall. She wants to tell him he's being an idiot, but she grits her teeth and saves her strength.

She glances up to see Lord Snow watching from the window of his tower. “Your silence betrays you, wench. Next you'll be letting him bed you.” It's no secret to most of the brothers at the Wall that she and Jaime often share a bed, and no one dares to confront the Kingslayer about a broken vow.

It's dirty, but she swings out a leg, tripping him, but Jaime was already in a forward motion, so instead he falls into her and they both go crashing to the ground. “What has gotten into you?” Brienne hisses before Jaime pulls himself off of her.

“I don't like sharing,” Jaime spits out as he takes off his helmet. “Never have.” He strides away before she can reply.

Brienne stalks back to her room to change into fresh clothes. She fingers a lingering bruise along her hip. There's a fresh welt across her shoulder blade that will purple in a few days. “Give me a moment,” she calls when someone knocks on her door.

“It's me,” Jaime replies and doesn't wait for her to open the door, simply slips inside.

“What--” Brienne snatches her tunic from the chair where she placed it, covering herself.

“It's nothing I haven't seen before.” Jaime tells her with a smirk. He's next to her in a second, his fingers skimming across the bruise on her hip.

She pushes away from him. “Is this your idea of an apology?” Brienne hates the words almost as soon as they've left her lips.

Jaime doesn't say anything, simply raises his eyebrows in reply. “Seems you owe _me_ an apology.”

Brienne slips her tunic over her head and spins around at this. “What? Why? Because I sparred with the Lord Commander? It's not polite to turn him down, Jaime, it had nothing to do with you. You're a skilled fighter.”

“I know,” Jaime smiles. “I meant for this.” He sets himself down in the chair, pulling up the leg of his breeches to reveal a welt across his shin.

She kneels down and passes her fingers tenderly over the wound. “I'm sorry,” she tells him.

He nods. “And you won't fight with our Lord Jon Snow any more?”

“I've probably overstayed my welcome here as it is. I should leave soon.” She replies, straightening.

Jaime catches her wrist. She looks back at him, his green eyes flashing. “You cannot.” Brienne is caught off guard. “What will you do when you leave? Return to Tarth?”

“I suppose, yes.” She nods. She and Jaime may have shared a bed, but they'd certainly never talked much of their futures. Not much point, with Jaime taking the black.

“...will you marry, my lady?” His voice is strained.

“Jaime?” He won't look at her, his head bowed. “What is this about?”

His fingers still around her wrist, Jaime pulls her towards him, down onto his lap. “I want you here,” he tells her simply. “You're mine.” He kisses her roughly. If it was anyone else, she would object to being laid claim to, but she does not fight him. “My maiden,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips on her neck.

“Hardly a maiden anymore,” she replies, a smile on her face.

He nips at her neck and before she realizes it, he's lifting up out of the chair, carrying her to the bed. “Jaime...” she starts to object, worrying he'll hurt himself. Neither of them are as young as they once were.

“Quiet, wench,” he warns her. “Do as I say.” Brienne looks at him with what she's sure is fire in her eyes. But Jaime doesn't soften. “Untie my laces.” She does as she's told. Even though she's done this before, she finds herself nervous, her fingers fumbling as she feels him hard against her hand.

When she puts her hand around his cock, his eyes fall closed in pleasure. “Gods,” he breathes. “You sure Renly never had you service him?” He opens his eyes, watching her closely. “Or maybe you think of doing the same for the Lord Commander?”

“Jaime.” She stops her movements. “You know I never--” He cuts her off, pulling her in for a kiss.

He fingers the scars on her cheek tenderly, but just like that the moment is gone. “Finish what you've started, wench. Or am I going to have to do it myself?”

When she takes him in her mouth, Jaime bucks against her, and she steadies him, a hand on his leg. She likes having him under her control. Brienne knows it is some sort of game they're playing, although Jaime would be loathe to admit the jealousy and accusations have deeper meaning for him.

Jaime moans her name as he finishes and she sits up, a smirk playing across her face. He sees her and grasps her wrist. “Alright, wench,” he growls in her ear. “You think this is a game?” In a flash, he's pinned her against the mattress, his golden hand heavy against hers, as she struggles against him.

Jaime lifts the tunic over her head, pausing to kiss her bruised hip, before he unlaces her breeches and barely pushes them down to her knees before he enters her. She's wet and he lets out a strangled cry, before he's remembers he's supposed to be all business. He fucks her, not letting up on the pace, and they're both grunting as if they're still out in the dirt, sparring.

“Jaime,” she moans.

“Keep saying it,” he tells her.

“_Jaime_. Ser Jaime Lannister.”

“Fuck,” he whispers.

He collapses against her chest when he finishes, both of them slick with sweat. “Kingslayer,” she says, knowing this will always get a reaction out of him.

“Careful. Or I'll flip you over and mount you from behind.” He kisses her and its soft and tender, and Brienne knows her Jaime has returned.

“I might enjoy it,” she teases.

She watches as the apple in his throat bobs up and down as he swallows, but then Brienne swears he almost blushes and shakes his head. “No,” he tells her. “I don't...” He gets a distant look in his eye that she recognizes and she drops the subject.

They're both quiet for a moment, their breathing steadying. “You cannot return to Tarth.”

“I may not. But I cannot stay here.”

“If the Lord Commander finds your sparring skills so commendable, maybe he will take you on as a Brother.”

“Jaime,” she sighs. Here they were again.

He presses kisses along her collarbone. “Maid of Tarth,” he breathes. “I cannot have you share someone else's bed, bear their children, because...”

“I am your maiden.” Brienne finishes, her voice a whisper.

He captures her mouth with his. “Yes,” he breathes against her lips. “Mine.”

She feels the familiar warmth between her legs. “Say it again.”

“Mine,” he whispers, his lips by her ear, his warm breath tickling, making her shiver.

“You are as demanding in bed as you are elsewhere.”

He slips off her and flips onto his back. “Wench,” he instructs, his voice flat. “Get on top.”

Brienne feels a thrill go through her, but tries not to smile.


End file.
